


The Flood

by Endangered_Slug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Fluffy fluff fluff fluff, It's about a flood, Prompt Fic, bedsharing fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 12:55:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7802680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A flood threatens Storybrooke and Belle finds herself a sudden heroine as she rescues Mr. Gold from being swept out to sea. Lots of talking and a little bit of understanding happens. In bed. </p>
<p>No, not like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Flood

**Author's Note:**

> a prompt by @standbyyourmantis and which I viciously and shamelessly stole from @thatravenclawbitch's fingers (let’s be real, she is the best at awkward bed sharing. I just barely touched on it)

The cell phone went off suddenly, buzzing and vibrating in her pocket with an alert from the Emergency Alert System with the information that the water levels in her area were rising and people were to get to higher ground immediately. It was the fourth time that hour it had informed her of this and she couldn’t shut it off. Emergency Services had access no matter what, she learned.

Belle barely glanced at her phone before she shoved it back into her jeans pocket with a roll of her eyes. She knew the water level was rising because she was almost standing in it as she frantically gathering as many books as she could and brought them up to her apartment above the library in an effort to save them.

When she’d taken the job as head librarian in the tiny coastal town of Storybrooke, Maine, she did not anticipate natural disasters wreaking havoc with her library. Her worst enemies in town had been an apathetic mayor and a startlingly high illiteracy rate that she was doing her best to combat, but floods? Not on her radar. Already she was mentally running through new protocols in case this happened again. A better way to store materials, a faster way to get those materials to storage — anything to keep from having to run up and down the stairs, by herself, hauling book after book and making snap decisions about which one was more valuable than the other. She would invent waterproof paper when everything was cleared away.

The day before, amid the pounding rain, she helped the public work crew sandbag the outside of her building, stacking them up to her waist before they were satisfied.

“I don’t get it, how does the ocean _flood_?” August whined as he threw down another sandbag from the truck onto the pile that was stacking up against her westward wall. He wiped his brow, a useless endeavor considering it was currently pouring rain on top of their heads.

“It’s not the ocean, dumbass. It’s the rain and the river and the rain and the lake and the rain and the ground is saturated,” Leroy retorted, his patience level already breached like the levee down by Lake Nostos. “Dumbass,” he muttered again under his breath, ducking his head as he worked, tossing the bags one by one in the hopes of saving the building and its contents.

They worked quickly and efficiently and offered to take Belle out to the makeshift evacuation center where she would be safe, but she refused, stating that she still had work to do. Her home was located on the second floor above the library, higher up than was typical for apartments and she felt confident that she would safe from the flood though she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure. But she wouldn’t leave her library. Not until she had delivered every book she could into her dry apartment.

She couldn’t save everything. Her flat was tiny and cramped with her furniture and she was quickly running out of room. Her favorites went first, then the tiny children’s section and the brightly colored fish chairs they loved so much, shoved on top of each other in a corner, a small selection of classics and nonfiction and — just in case — a book on how to build a raft.

The pounding rain drowned out everything else except for her own racing thoughts. At some point during the morning, Belle could hear Sheriff Graham’s squad car as it slowly sloshed through the fast running river Main Street had turned into, his public intercom turned on as he did his best to clear the area. Most everyone had evacuated already, huddled up over at the high school, which was built on a knoll that should be safe from the oncoming deluge, others upstate with relatives or huddled into any hotel that had available rooms.

She took one last look around, sniffling as the tears began to well up now that she’d done all she could do to save her library. She hated that she couldn’t get all of them up to a dry spot and she whispered a wobbly sounding, “I’m so sorry,” to those that were left — too many to count — before she ran to her office to shut off the circuit breaker pitching the library into a gloomy darkness that not even her flashlight could dispel.

The streets were flooded and already the water was lapping at her door with rivulets flowing in underneath the sandbags and the door, heading straight towards the circulation desk. Belle made a mental note to have the floor leveled when restorations began as she ran to get the library’s laptop to haul it upstairs with her. She’d just upgraded from the clunky and slow nineties desktop and she would not lose it now.

She glanced out the window at the gray sky, hoping that there would be some let up in the rain that had fallen for three weeks straight, but there was no sign of it stopping. And even if it did, that still wouldn’t stop the flooding. The levee was washed away, the rivers were overflowing and it was all heading their way.

The street lights were on even though it was only five o’clock in the afternoon and the one stoplight in town was blinking red and swinging wildly in the wind. Every few seconds a fresh burst of water would flow faster than the rest, sending debris swirling with it. Bits of everyday life was floating away: the tables from Granny’s patio, a kid’s bike, more branches than she could count, and, at the corner across the way, she could see the yellow VW bug, lovingly restored by the new Deputy, begin to lift up as the water level rose. It would be the first vehicle to go given that the car was so light, but she suspected nearly every car would be lost either out at sea or submerged in their own front yards.

She turned her head, dancing away from another rivulet that threatened her shoes, and looked the other way towards the bay. The library was happily situated near the waterfront, a  perk of the job as she could take her lunch breaks out on the pier if she had time. Which she never did, she realized with a frown.

She glanced over at Mr. Gold’s surprised to see the swinging light of a flashlight inside. How could he still be there? His house was too far away and the streets were impassable now. His car probably wouldn’t even start. He walked with a cane, could he swim? Stupid question, no one could swim in that, it was suicide to even try. What was he thinking?

She watched with growing horror as he opened the door to his shop, letting in a torrent of muddy water onto the pristine floors of his shop. He shoved the door closed with his shoulder and paused to lock it up as if anything in there would be worth salvaging in three days. A large satchel was draped crosswise over his chest and he blanched as looked around, finally realizing exactly how stuck he was. He looked indecisive, as if he didn’t know whether to go back inside or try to make it over to another safer place, but Belle knew that hers was the only safe spot on Main Street. He would have to come in.

Belle banged on the window with the flat of her hand, calling his name, but he didn’t hear her. She ran to the front of her library, slipping on the wet tiles until she splashed to the door. Opening it sent more water in and, even though she knew it was going to happen anyway, she felt like she was betraying her books by allowing it the water to enter the library. Still, as fanatical as she was about her books, a fellow human being was more important than anything else and she found herself scrambling over the sandbags piled in front of the door, calling out his name.

“Mr. Gold,” she yelled, her hands cupped around her mouth to help amplify the sound. “MR. GOLD!” She waved her arm in a wide arc over her head, jumping up and down and trying to stay upright as the water threatened to sweep her away, too.

He glanced up, alarmed at her screaming, eyes widening underneath the hair plastered against his head as he saw her.

“Miss _French_?” he yelled back, almost angrily. “What the hell are you still doing here?”

She didn’t answer the question that could have easily been turned towards him. She waved him over, holding out her hands to him as she tried to walk through the flooded street. He hesitated, looking around to see if some miracle would provide a passing boat, but as no boat appeared, he began to wade across the street towards her, sloshing with every step. The water was up to their knees now, dangerous and fast and filthy. Belle wished she had a rope to anchor herself to the columns holding up the overhang on her building, but she didn’t and neither did Gold and it was a useless thought, meant to distract her from the dangerous situation she’d placed herself in. Gold stumbled halfway across the street, thick in the swirling current that threatened to topple him over and sweep him out to sea.

“Careful!” Belle shouted, as she splashed out to meet him. He was tiny and she was tiny, but together they would make one medium-sized person and that might be enough weight to bring them back to her library. It would have to be quick, already she could see Emma’s bug begin its inevitable journey down the street. It would knocked them down and drag them with it if they weren’t inside the building by the time it floated by. She couldn’t trust that it wouldn’t slam into the library, they had to be inside, not under the overhang. Inside where it was safe.

She hurried her steps, living a real life nightmare of running in slow motion and not getting anywhere, but she persisted, holding her arms out for Gold to grab hold of, his cane already lost to the waters.

“Grab my hand, Mr. Gold,” she urged, stretching her fingers out wide and he reached up, his hand centimeters away. “Please, please, please,” she chanted, bracing her feet wide and leaning over. He inched over and at last he slapped his hand in hers, wet and shaking but there and she pulled hard, dragging him through the water which was now swirling at the top of her thighs.

She groaned loudly as she hauled him towards her, forgetting everything but the current and the bug that was spinning their way. He slammed into her, sending her reeling backwards, but he held her hand tight in his own, bracing his feet and keeping her upright, a pained look twisting his face.

“Come on,” she panted, looking up the street. “We have to get inside before Emma’s bug runs us down.”

Gold glanced in the direction Belle indicated then swore under his breath. He pushed her in front of him to get her out of the way of the oncoming car even as she dragged him by the hand, not letting go for a second lest one of them get washed away.

“Come on, come on, come on,” she chanted under her breath, pulling at him, the water now up to her waist as her foot finally found the curb. Just a few feet more and they would be inside and safe.

He stumbled after her, telling her to go on ahead, but she refused to let go.

“Come on,” she said, the only thing she could say as she glanced over her shoulder at him and the yellow bug that was barreling straight towards them.

Belle yanked at him, her free arm reaching out towards the pillar that held up the overhand to her library. They were nearly there. Nearly safe.

“Come on!”  

She wrapped her arm around it, gasping and choking, then yanked at Gold some more, bringing him up against her chest.

“Are you okay,” she asked, glancing up at his pained face.

He nodded his head, lips pressed tight. Belle suspected that he was the type that would never admit to feeling pain. Fine. If he wanted to play the martyr, she knew where there would soon be a lot of wood to build a cross he could climb up on.

She heard the bug crash into the building catty-corner to hers and the sick, loud groaning as it skidded against the siding, peeling it back as it slid away. She watched it in dismay then looked across the street towards Gold’s shop and saw that his Cadillac, so big it might have been a boat itself, was almost entirely engulfed and halfway towards the waterfront. They might find it at the bottom of the bay. Maybe.

The bug broke free from the building and hurtled towards them.

“No time! We have to go in!” she cried, pushing him towards the doors. They swam the last five feet with Gold’s satchel doing a very good impression of an anchor, but the sandbags were still there doing their best to keep the water out. She shoved at the doors, screaming in frustration when they refused to budge, but they gave way at last and they rode the wave of water that washed them over the barrier in a heap of arms and legs and sandbags on her floor just as the bug swiped the pillar they had been holding onto, taking it and half the overhang down.

She sputtered and coughed, splayed out on her belly next to Gold in the growing sluice of water that was spilling over the sandbags. She spit out the water she’d swallowed, propping herself up with shaking arms to look at the damage. The overhang gone, the column wiped away, the water coming in and her books closest to the doors already soaking wet. She would never get the doors closed again, she realized with a sob as she picked herself up. She felt sore and in need of a shower and a nap and a gigantic Long Island iced tea. Two of them. At once.

She looked over at Gold, who was just beginning to sit up looking like one of those angry wet cat memes she laughed at online.

“Are you okay,” he rasped, wiping the hair out of his eyes. “Did you hurt yourself?”

She shook her head slowly. No, she wasn’t hurt. Heartbroken maybe, but not hurt.

“Can you stand, Mr. Gold?” she asked, holding out a hand to help him up. “We have to get upstairs,” she reminded him, glancing at the waterfall pouring over the compromised sandbags.

He nodded quickly, allowing her to haul him to his feet. Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, they limped along towards the back staircase that led up to her apartment. It was kept locked during business hours, but she’d propped it open while she saved what books she could. Without the lights it would be dark and mildly claustrophobic, but there was only one way to go and that was up towards her apartment, dry and warm and safe.

The water hadn’t yet reached that area of the building, but they were soaked through and the tiles were slippery. She thought it might be faster for him crawling than walking, but she knew Mr. Gold would never do such a thing, so she gritted her teeth and bore the brunt of his weight as he limp-hopped-skipped with her.

“I’m sorry,” he said under his breath.

Startled, she looked up at him. “Why?”

“I’m slow.”

“You’re not slow… Well, I mean you are, but you walk with a cane and this is hard,” she pointed out.

The frown on his face deepened and she wondered what it was she’d said that had insulted him so. It was all the truth. He knew he used a cane. He knew walking without it would be laborious. She couldn’t fault him for either of those things.

They were breathing heavily by the time they reached the stairs and Belle’s arm and shoulders were aching from the stress. She lowered him down onto the second step where he slumped his shoulders, head hanging down. She could barely see him in the gloom of the passageway.

“Uh, it’s just at the top, Mr. Gold. I don’t know if I can help you walk all the way up. It might be easier to sort of… scoot up on your bum.”

He nodded his head to let her know that he’d heard her.

“You want me to take your satchel for you?” she asked.

He silently lifted it over his head and handed it over with a muttered thank you. She took it, holding the strap with both hands before she remembered her laptop back at the desk.

“Hang on,” she told him before she hurried away, already noting that the water had reached the last of the shelves and was rising rapidly.

She splashed through the stacks and retrieved her precious computer and the flashlight she’d left when she went to rescue Gold, then splashed back to find that he’d already reached the fifth stair, pushing up with his hands to bump himself up to the next step. It was going to be slow and he would be sore in the morning, but he worked without complaint for which she was grateful. Belle touched him on the shoulder as she hurried past him, running up ahead to drop off her items and switch on the flameless candles and small electric lanterns she’d collected during her emergency supply run.

Then she ran back down past him again — this time on the twentieth step — to shut the door behind them. She switched on her flashlight then and hurried back up, pointing it just below his feet.

“Do you want help?” she asked, tentatively.

He shook his head and grunted as he popped up another step.

“Should I stay with you?”

He glanced at her for a brief moment before uttering a rough, “No.”

“Fine then. You’re a third of the way there. I’ll have the door propped open for you,” she said as she squeezed by him to run up the stairs for the last time that day. “Let me know if you get lost,” she called over her shoulder.

Her legs were shaking as she stood in her apartment, her arms wrapped around herself protectively as she shivered and dripped on her rug. What the hell had she just done?

Several deep breaths later she shook herself out of it and went to her closet. Her apartment wasn’t big, it was more a studio than anything else, with her bed shoved into the back corner walled in by shelves that were filled with her personal books and the tiny bathroom in the opposite corner. The kitchen was called open concept — but then her entire space was open concept — the appliances bare minimum and a bit rusty, but still working fine. There was a small loveseat shoved up against the half wall that separated the kitchen from the rest of the place and a battered coffee table in front of it, both of them piled high with books from downstairs. Everywhere there was space there were books stacked in precarious columns like a literary Grand Canyon. She’d done her best to save them, but there was only so much room and there was only one of her.

She grabbed a towel and wrapped it around her hair before peeling off her jeans and underwear. Wet denim was just awful — it might have been easier to just cut them off, but she finally kicked them off her chilled and waterlogged skin where they fell with soggy plop onto her floor.

Her sweatshirt was easier to take care of and she gladly unhooked her bra and flung it into her hamper, glancing at the door to make sure she was still alone. At the rate Gold was moving, she would have time to dry off, change and paint her toenails if she wanted to. She felt a bit bad for leaving him there in the stairwell, but he said he wanted to do it alone and she imagined that he was the type of person who hated to look weak in front of people. Her closet was small, comprising of a thin, wobbly wall built after the place had been converted, and it was stuffed with her small dresser on one side and her clothes squeezed into the other. There was no room for new things, but Belle happened to like nice clothes (something she held in common with Mr. Gold in fact) and what didn’t make it onto a hanger found itself folded and stacked on top of her dresser and in storage bins under her bed. She yanked open the top drawer and pulled out a fresh pair of underwear, flinging them onto her bed then shoved the drawer closed again with a bang. Another drawer gave her possession of two shirts and a couple pairs of pajama bottoms, one of them belonging to an old boyfriend who had showed dangerous levels of possessiveness. But he did leave the sweatpants, which was his biggest and best contribution to their failed relationship.

She toweled off, shivering the whole time. A hot shower would get her warm, but right now all she wanted was to get dry. She didn’t know if she was supposed to use the water heater or not. She thought it was heated by gas, but it might be electric and she felt stupid for not checking before she shut the circuit breaker off. She had a sneaking suspicious that the water that came out of the shower would be exactly the same as the water she’d just swam through and the idea of washing in that made her skin crawl. She’d wait it out. She’d have to, the shower was stacked high with books.

She yanked her shirt over her head where it came down to the tops of her thighs then put on her underwear before she realized that she hadn’t heard from Mr. Gold yet. Curious, she took the towel from her head and draped it about her shoulders, walking towards the doorway, careful of the books all about her feet.

“Mr. Gold?” she called out, peering around the doorway to shine her light down the stairs, but it was empty. She blinked. Surely she hadn’t imagined that whole ordeal.

“Right here,” he said unexpectedly at her feet.

She screamed and fumbled the flashlight, bouncing it from one hand to the other before getting a grip on it. She shone it at him as he winced and turned away from the light.

“Do you mind?” he snapped.

“Sorry! Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there,” she said, turning the light away. “Uh… How long have you been just sitting there?” _And what did you see?_

He snorted and shook his head, almost laughing. “Long enough. Trying to catch my breath before I ventured into the, ah... “ he glanced around her legs into her apartment. “Book jungle.” He looked back at her, noticing her bare legs and looked away again, his cheeks reddening ever so slightly.

She laughed shakily. “Yeah, I… I tried to save what I could,” she explained, forgetting her state of undress to hold out a hand. “Let’s get you inside and dry.”

He looked grateful as he stood up, then not so grateful when she once again draped his arm over her shoulder to help him walk.

“You did all this?” he asked, his voice low in her ear.

“Yeah. I didn’t really have an action plan for flooding so I just brought up the ones that will be the hardest to replace. It wasn’t easy to decide,” she admitted as they turned toward her couch, but it was sagging under the weight of a quarter of the self help section. “Ohhhhhhh, there’s no place to put you.” She glanced at him, sheepishly. “Uh, everything’s got books on it,” she told him.

“At least we won’t be bored,” he quipped.

She smiled at him. “Yeah. Just another night at home for me.”

He looked at her with a puzzled frown before she nudged him forward, heading straight to her bed, which was the only flat surface that didn’t have an encyclopedia on it. Just the romance novel she’d been reading on top of her pillow. Oh, dear. Well, she wasn’t precisely expecting company. But then, when did she ever expect company?

“Uh, I have some dry clothes for you over here,” she said, when she guided him towards her bedroom.

He nodded, curtly. “Thank you.”

It was then that she noticed her own pajama pants still laying neatly folded on her bed instead of wrapped around her legs where they belonged. “Shiiiiiiiiii...I’ll just, uh, put these on and…” she snatched them off the bed and backed away. “Um, the bathroom. Back in a jiffy!”

She disappeared into the tiny bathroom and slammed the door shut, engulfing her in complete darkness. Fine. It was fine. She just had to put her pants on no big deal. She’d only just walked around half naked in front of the most powerful man in town. Had him draped over her shoulder like a backpack. Not a problem. It was just legs, she showed more at the beach, or had when she went to the beach and they were both adults for cripe’s sake. No big deal. None whatsoever.

She felt better when her legs were covered in fabric anyway and she went through the added effort of tying up the drawstring into a neat bow. She fumbled for the door handle then stumbled over the doorjamb contributing to the feeling of uselessness that had suddenly invaded her entire being.

“I, ah, have a laundry basket,” she said, pointing straight to her wet things and the lacy bra that was sitting on top. “Uhhhh… just put your clothes in it?”

“Okay. Thank you,” he said politely, the corners of his lips lifting in amusement.

She backed away again. “I’ll grab something to eat. I just went grocery shopping when all this hit so we’re good for a few days. Hope you like cereal.”

Another soft chuckle. “Love it.”

“Good! And the stove works on gas, but I’m not sure if it’s safe to use. I don’t know what that amount of water does to the infrastructure.”

“Better dry cereal than dead,” he agreed, his small smile widening into a crooked grin. “These for me?” he asked, pointing to the pile of clothes on the bed.

“Yeah! Those were Greg’s,” she said with a wrinkle of her nose. “He was awful, but don’t worry,” she grinned at him. “I don’t think his spirit stayed with them, you should be safe.”

The smile was gone in an instant. “He’s dead?”

“Huh? No, I don’t think so. I just meant the vibes. I said he was awful.”

“Why keep them then?”

“Never know when you might need an oversized pair of sweats! And look, they came in handy,” she said, waving her hand at them like a game show hostess.

He shook his head at her and she realized that she was keeping him from drying off.

“Sorry. I’ll give you some privacy,” she said, turning away. “I promise I won’t peek!”

She opened the fridge, briefly confused about why the light didn’t run on until she remembered that it wouldn’t work with the power out. She took out some grapes and the good chunk of cheese and the prosciutto she’d splurged on as a treat, then, after a second’s thought, grabbed the bottle of white she had been saving. No point in letting that go to waste. She worked quickly and set up everything on a platter she hardly ever used since she hardly ever had enough company to justify its presence.

A box of crackers, a corkscrew, two wine glasses and a cheese knife completed their dinner and she gingerly picked her way around the trail of books on the floor as she walked back.

“Okay, we have better than Fruit Loops,” she told him happily, looking up from the floor to witness his taut, bare backside just being covered by the heather gray sweatpants with the tacky cartoon bulldog on the side of the leg. She gawped at him, not quite able to process that she’d just seen _the_ Mr. Gold’s ass in the flesh. And that it was a nice one. Something that would be fun to watch as he moved around. Naked. And that it had those dimples on top that, if she was anyone else and he was anyone else, she would have dipped her tongue into at every opportunity because _damn_.

“I’m-I’m so sorry,” she stuttered, feeling her face flush with shame and embarrassment, but her apology was ruined because then she sputtered as he turned around, unable to contain the laughter. He was positively swimming in the sweatpants. And she’d also apparently grabbed her A Wish is Dream Your Heart Makes shirt from her last trip to Disney World — ten years ago.

“Take a picture?” he said blandly, holding his arms out until the pants started sliding down again. He clutched at them, yanking them up to his waist.

“Uh… you can sit down on the bed, Mr. G-Gold,” she told him, trying to keep a straight face.

He sat down onto the bed in a huff, wincing as he brought his bad leg up to rest.

“Greg was a giant,” he said, his head leaning against the wall. His hair was already dry and hanging about his face in a silver curtain that glimmered in the low lighting of her room.

She noticed the laundry basket was filled with Armani and her towels as she moved into the room

“He was,” Belle agreed. “Ridiculously tall. Too tall, too… bulky. And stupid. And my phone got soaked when I went out to get you so you’re in luck, there will be no Instagramming your latest sartorial splendor.”

He chuckled, before asking, “What’s Instagram?”

“Just a website,” she told him, sliding the tray onto the bed. “I hope you don’t mind eating here, everywhere else is full.”

He shook his head, then frowned suddenly. “What about sleeping?”

“We sleep on the bed, too. But not until after we eat,” she told him, pointing the tip of the corkscrew into the cork carefully. “Wait a minute, I’m not very good at this. Always get pieces in it.”

“Give it to me,” he said almost fondly, slipping it out of her fingers. He deftly inserted the corkscrew and, with a few turns and a crank of the handle with his surprisingly expressive hands, the cork was out in one long piece. “Just takes practice,” he said.

His eyes glinted at her and her breath caught at how handsome he really was. Well, she’d always thought so, but here, sitting on her bed and holding that cork and wearing her shirt, the man was simply beautiful. Oh.

“Very nice,” she said with the raise of her eyebrows. “Do you make house calls? Because I go through a lot of bottles of wine believe me.”

“And you still mangle corks?” he asked with a smirk. “Preposterous.”

“Well, they usually have screw tops,” she admitted. “You just came on a good week.” She sat down on the bed opposite him, leaning against the footboard, their legs just barely touching.

He snorted. “Yes, the flood hit when you were flush with cash. Very lucky.”

“I suppose.” She held out her wine glass for him to fill, then watched as he poured his own. She pointed with her glass the direction of her side table (also stacked with books, but these were ones she owned).

“I’m sorry, I walked in on you changing,” she said after a deep gulp of wine.

  
He looked up at her, uncertainly. “It was an accident,” he said, quietly. “It was a bit difficult to get rid of everything. Suits have layers,” he said as he brought his glass to his lips, sipping delicately. He raised his eyebrows at her appreciatively once he swallowed.

“Like ogres,” she said, smiling over her glass at him.

He wrinkled his forehead. “What?”

She laughed, shaking her head. “It’s from a movie. Ogres have layers.”

He looked at her as if he wasn’t sure if she was laughing at him or not. “I see.”

She pushed the platter over to him with her free hand, nodding for him to start. “If we survive this whole mess, you can come up and watch it. You might like it.”

He stared at her, his face blank. “That’s… very kind of you.”

“I mean it. Once power is restored, we’ll have a movie night. I’ll make popcorn,” she said, wiggling her head.

“Or you can come to my place,” he offered, tentatively. “I have a bit more space.”

“You’re up on a hill, right? Your house is probably okay?”

“Yeah, it should be fine,” he said, looking at the cheese he’d sliced. He carefully put it on a cracker then topped it with a bit of prosciutto.

“Why did you go to your shop then if you could have stayed at home?”

“Well,” he said, chewing slowly. “I needed to retrieve some documents.”

“The stuff in the satchel?”

He nodded his head. “Contracts, deeds, property reports and such. My safe is watertight, but it could still be swept away.” He held up his hands and wiggled the finger. “Poof! Just like that.”

“But they got wet, too?” she asked.

“Ziploc bags,” he said, brightly. “They make them in the five gallon size now.”

“Good to know. I could have used them downstairs,” she smiled at him a bit before it faded away. “Oh god, I don’t even know if I’m going to have a job when this goes away.” She clutched her hands in her hair, just beginning to dry into frizzy curls, and pulled at it.

“Why not? Surely we’ll rebuild.”

“Yeah, maybe. Only Regina’s been threatening me with budget cuts. I’m already down to a bare minimum as it is. I can only take volunteers, I’m not allowed paid staff, my acquisition budget may as well not even exist and I have to rely on the interlibrary loan to get new books. I’m barely operating, Mr. Gold. She might not find it in her interest to reopen the library again.”

His smile curled into something dangerous, something feral. “I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen, Miss French. I have some pull with the city council. Don’t worry about your job.”

She blinked at him and suddenly that wolfish look of his was gone replaced with the affable man she’d been conversing with. “That’s very nice of you, Mr. Gold. Thank you.”

He waved a hand as if nothing he said was very important, but the words stuck in her mind, reminding her that Gold wasn’t very well regarded in town and for good reasons. Reasons that she’d helped rescue in that satchel of his.

“What would you do if you could?” he asked, softly after they had been quiet for a while, eating their cheese and crackers and sipping wine in silence.

She tilted her head at him, too lost in thought to catch his meaning.

“If you could do anything in the world what would it be?” he restated.

“Oh! That’s easy, I’d travel.”

“Travel? Where to?”

“I’ve always wanted to see the world. I’ve flown over half of it already, but I’ve seen so little. I want to explore places I’ve only read about and maybe discover something new.”

“You’d be an adventurer,” he offered, a crooked smile playing on his lips.

She grinned back at him. “That sounds nice. And adventurer. Not very practical with my budget,” she added as she prepped her own cracker, popping it in her mouth whole.

“I’m not sure you realize this yet, but I owe you now,” he told her in a quiet voice, watching her intently.

She scrunched her face. “You… do? How? Did we play poker and I forgot?” she teased, nudging his thigh with her toe.

He looked at her as if she had just spoken in tongues. “You saved my life,” he clarified.

She scratched at her eyebrow, uncomfortable with the way the conversation had turned. “But I would have done the same for anyone.”

He smiled, huffing a bit as his head jerked back in amusement. “But you saved mine. And I owe you. You can pretty much name your price.”

“Um… life is priceless. You can’t _really_ put an amount on it.”

His shoulders shook as he quietly laughed. “Well, if you think of anything. Anything,” he said. “You have it.”

She bobbed her head to the side. “That’s quite a promise, Mr. Gold. I don’t think I want that kind of power over anyone.” Anything was more than what she could handle. Maybe if he’d offered to buy her a new kindle, she’d have jumped at it, but anything? Too much.

“Surely there’s something you desire. You mentioned traveling, I could send you around the world for as long as you want.”

Her mouth parted and she licked at her dry lips, slowly becoming seduced by the idea. “It’s, uh, only really fun if you have someone to experience it with.”

“Library then?”

“It’s insured. And I was just guaranteed job security,” she reminded him with a smirk.

He glanced around. “A house of your own. More space for your books and any other stray ones you might have to rescue.”

She giggled, shaking her head helplessly. “It’s just me, Mr. Gold. I don’t need anything like that. Though I do like the travel idea.” she admitted over her glass of wine. “That’s… it’s really tempting, Mr. Gold. I don’t know what to say.”

“Just think it over. I’m not going anywhere,” he said with a self-deprecating smirk.

She leaned over, bracing her hand on his knee to put her glass on the table next to his. “Yeah, about that. Where are you from exactly?” she asked as she leaned back.

“No secret,” he said, his accent deepening delightfully. “I’m from Glasgow. You?”

“Melbourne, originally. Then we moved here.”

“And “we” is?”

“My father. The two of us emigrated when my mum died. He kind of wanted to get as far away as he could and we wound up here.”

“In Maine?”

“Boston, first. That’s where he is now. I’m here because of the library.”

“And this… Greg fellow?”

“Ugh. He was a mistake. But mistakes are normal, right? Part of the learning process of who and what you are.”

“And who are you?”

She snickered. “Not Greg’s that’s for damn sure.” She glanced at him, rolling the hem of her shirt between her fingers. “Do you have a Greg in your past?”

He threw his head back and laughed, a full, throaty laugh that shook the bed and sent her giggling after him. “My Greg was named Milah,” he said, wiping his eyes. “She’s… well, she’s my ex-wife. And also a big mistake,” he finished, giving her a rueful look. 

She bit her lip, her stomach flip flopping dangerously and she didn’t know if it was the extreme circumstances and enforced intimacy and the wine or if she was beginning to really like the man. Probably a perfect storm of all three. She _liked_ him. Mr. Gold! 

How weird was that?

“Was she pretty?” she asked out of the blue, her mind on this faceless ex-wife that was a big mistake.

“She—” he stopped suddenly, looking at her, blinking his eyes rapidly. He drew in a deep breath, letting it out in short bursts. “Yeah, she was pretty,” he said, looking down at the glass in his hand.

“Greg was, too. Much prettier than me and he made sure I knew it.”

“Impossible,” he insisted to her amazement. “Milah would have loved him,” he muttered, taking a swig from his wine. “I didn’t keep any of her clothes though,” he said with a pointed glance.

“Yeah, those belong to you now,” she said, plucking at his sweatpants with her fingers, her tongue between her teeth as she smiled at him.

She slid off the bed, suddenly aware that she was being a complete idiot. “I’m just gonna see where the water is. Be right back.”

She padded barefoot to the door, grabbing her flashlight along the way and opened it cautiously. The landing was dry and so were the first twenty steps. She went no further, feeling itchy as if someone was staring at her and felt foolish for it, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was walking into a horror movie waiting to happen. The heroine went off alone to check a strange sound and then — bam! — the bad guy got her. She shone the beam further down the stairwell and found the bad guy waiting for her, lapping at the fifth step and slowly rising. She made a finger gun and pretended to shoot it once with a soft ‘pew’ before turning around and hurrying back to her apartment.

“Do we need to start bailing,” Gold called out when she came back inside and slammed the door behind her.

“It’s at the fifth step,” she informed him, standing next to the bed and leaning into it, tired but not ready to give up on the day yet. “Not quite time to get out the buckets.”

“But we’re pretty high up here, right?” he asked, sitting up straighter.

“Yeah.”

“We should be fine, right?”

“Yeah. If it comes up to the landing, we can always move to the bell tower. I have access, it’s just… not very roomy.” Her lips twisted into a moue.

“A tight space is better than drowned,” he pointed out.

“Yeah.”

He leaned over to touch her hand, that slight caress causing her to look up at him in surprise.

“Are you okay, Belle?” he asked, using her name for the first time.

She nodded her head, unable to speak, her breath caught in her throat as he held her gaze with his warm brown eyes.

“You’re worried about the books?”

“They’re all I have,” she whispered, feeling her eyes well up alarmingly. A miniature flood of her own. She didn’t think they made sandbags small enough for her eyes.

He blinked. “Belle—”

“I mean, I-I-I have family back home and my dad, but here there’s no one. It’s just me. And these books. And it’s my job to care for them,” she explained, sitting heavily on the bed next to him, her shoulders slumped. She blinked away the tears, willing them to go away.

“You’re lonely?” he asked, incredulous. “But you’re…” he gestured at her with his hands.

She shrugged. “I go out sometimes with my friends, but…”

“But?”

“I, uh... “ she laughed, a small brittle thing that hurt her throat. “It’s not the same as having…”

“Companionship,” he offered with a knowing look.

She smiled in gratitude. “That’s a good word.”

“Yeah,” he agreed.

“Anyway,” she said, taking a stiff breath. “The water shouldn’t get this high, right? We’re close to the bay, it’s not like it doesn’t have anywhere to go.”

He nodded his head, thoughtfully. “Right. We’ll be fine.”

“But, um, just in case… I just wanted to let you know that I’m glad you’re here.”

His mouth opened but no words came out. He stared at her, his eyes burning into her own as his breathing became harder, his eyes darting across her face, searching for the truth behind her words. She smiled at him kindly as she turned her hand up to entwine her fingers around his and leaned her head against his shoulder, not the bravest thing she’d done that day, but certainly daring. Definitely crossing a line. After a moment’s hesitation, he put his cheek on top of her head and let out a long, drawn out sigh.

“Think we ought to get some sleep?” she asked after they were quiet for a while.

“Do you think you can?”

“No, but I should try?”

It wasn’t as awkward as she expected, getting ready for bed with Mr. Gold. It should have been, but their candid conversations made him seem more human, not quite the monster he pretended to be. He used the wall to steady himself as he walked to the bathroom, the flashlight dangling from a makeshift lanyard around his neck while Belle put their dinner away. He was just limping back when she returned, the flashlight hand off as coordinated as an Olympic relay. She hurried in the bathroom, not liking the way the flashlight cast strange shadows on the wall, definitely not liking the way it made her face look in the mirror. Gaunt and haunted looking, scared and wistful, she looked away as she brushed her teeth, scrubbing hard as if she could brush the image from her mind.

He slid down under the blanket while she went about the studio, turning off all the little lights she had going and, when she came back, he was pressed up against the wall, her thin mattress dipping down with the added weight and she felt a lump in her throat at the sight. She wanted this. Wanted intimacy and affection and warmth and companionship and... love. Not that she thought this was love, not by a long shot, but it was intimate and affectionate and warm and caring… He’d promised her she could keep her job and she thought that might have been offered even if she hadn’t gone out after him. That he might truly care for her, at least a little.

She gave him a tiny smile as she slid into bed next to him, switching off the flashlight and setting it on top of her pile of books, then turned to face him, tucking her shoulder underneath the covers.

“Thank you for keeping me company today, Mr. Gold,” she whispered as her eyes adjusted to the dark. The storm had passed at some point when they weren’t watching and the moon had come out, giving the room enough pale light so that she could see his face, soft and sweet and tired and… happy.

“It was my absolute pleasure, Belle,” he murmured. “Thank you for saving my life.”

“Well, that was _my_ pleasure,” she said with a soft giggle as the image of his ass flashed through her mind. “But I would have gone a bit mad alone up here all night. I’m glad you’re with me.”

“Me, too.”

She blinked at him, slowly, feeling the pull of sleep beginning to weigh her eyelids down. She knew that he wouldn’t sleep. That he would watch over her and monitor the rising waters and alert her if they were in any danger. She knew she was safe with him. That he cared. And she cared. For him. Strange, mysterious Mr. Gold who no one liked, but who spoke to her as if she was an important person, like she mattered. To him.

Her heart felt full to bursting with a warmth that hadn’t been there before with Greg or any of the others she’d dated before and she pressed a hand to her chest, gasping from the pressure.

He was up on his elbow in an instant, his large hand rubbing circles along her back, which made the feeling all that much better and all that much worse.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked, anxiously.

She shook her head, unable to speak, but gestured for him to lie back down. He did so, watching her the whole time, looking for any signs of distress. He settled down on the pillow, his hair, fluffing out magnificently which made her want to laugh again at the sight of it. His eyes, warm and soft and tenderly looking at her, followed her every movement with anticipation while she scooted closer. She hesitated when she pressed up against him, debating for only a moment before giving his rough and scratchy cheek a quick peck before resting her head against his shoulder and wrapping her arm around him to hold him close. He inhaled sharply at her actions, then tentatively wrapped her up in his arms, exhaling against the top of her head in a long burst when she didn’t burst from his grip.

“Thank you, Belle,” he whispered into her hair.

She smiled into his shirt — her shirt, but his now and spoke against his chest, her words muffled through the fabric, “I just want you to know, that if you ever think that you might want a little bit of companionship, if you get a lonely maybe, I wouldn’t mind rescuing you from that as well.”

He lifted his head to look at her, but she kept her face tucked down, hiding her flaming cheeks from any embarrassing comments. 

“Belle? Do you— I would like that a lot,” he said, his voice rough.

“You would? Like, we could... “ she trailed off, trying to think about where they could go, but everywhere was currently underwater and unlikely to be dug out anytime soon. They would have to go all the way to—

“My place,” he insisted. “We’ll watch that ogre movie and I’ll make you dinner and you can… bring some of your books on a field trip.”

She giggled and pressed her face against him. She could feel his heartbeat racing against her cheek. “My books might like that. Some of them,” she amended.

They were quiet for a while and Belle had almost drifted to sleep when he spoke, his voice low and rumbling in her ear. “Do you mean it?”

She nodded her head, stretching her arm across his chest to pull him closer. “I do. All of it. And one thing more....” she said, nuzzling against him.

“Hmm?”

“You have a really, _really_ great ass. It’s unfair. I just thought you should know.”

She drifted off to sleep, warm and safe, listening to the soft laughter of Mr. Gold shaking the bed. The man she saved. The man she’s keeping.

Great ass and all.


End file.
